


Never Stumble

by ThisCatastrophe



Series: Burnt Offerings [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Play, Blood and Gore, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Eroguro, Face Slapping, Fluff and Smut, Gags, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Public Blow Jobs, of an... interesting variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14742485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisCatastrophe/pseuds/ThisCatastrophe
Summary: It’s silent, save for the rain that drums against the window and the gentle sound of a cherry comb passing through hair. Hidan stills his hand and listens for Kakuzu’s hearts, focuses on the pulse of blood as it circulates.“Do you think Dear Leader’ll be okay with this?” Hidan asks.(Hidan and Kakuzu return to a temporary Akatsuki base to meet up with Dear Leader and the rest. Can they continue their budding relationship even under surveillance?Eroguro KakuHida. Minimal plot. Let's be real; this is violent gore porn bookended in some cute fluff.)





	Never Stumble

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. Another piece in the Burnt Offerings puzzle, again commissioned by shipcat. 
> 
> Beware: long author's note. First, I'd like to remind the reader that I'm taking commissions for both writing and editing, and I'm really looking for new clients as I just finished school and am starting to pay off my loans. I'm willing to write most things short of noncon, pedophillia and some of the less sanitary kinks, and I'm very much down to write OC fiction, including OC/Canon, OC/OC and OC Gen. As for editing, I specialize in grammar, style guide building/adherence and consistency. My rates for both are on my tumblr page; hit me up if you have any questions.
> 
> Second, content warnings. Language (sexist/abusive used in a kink setting), possible dubcon, violence containing major gore. In particular, please don't continue past the second cuddling scene (inside the cave) if you are particularly sensitive to things that border on dubcon, rapeplay or consent that isn't explicitly verbalized. I didn't write the scene as noncon, and it really isn't dubcon, but be careful anyway. And as usual, if something about the piece harms you, please tell me.

In a tiny inn there is an even tinier room. It’s the Grateful Arms’ third and final guest room, wedged between the boiler room and the pantry, decked in odd, foreign trappings brought in from the owner’s odd, foreign homeland. A single grimy window looks out over the grassy countryside, and Hidan swears he can see into Land of Earth to the north when the monsoon rains break up.

They sit on the bed (even taller than the last bed they saw, and entirely unsuited for jumping on; Hidan hates it), curled into each other and into themselves for warmth in the unseasonably chilly, damp evening. Kakuzu’s head, hair loose and coiling into a thousand directions and a thousand tangles, makes its way into Hidan’s lap; Hidan saves his grousing for another day and simply brushes out the tangles as well as he can.

It’s silent, save for the rain that drums against the window and the gentle sound of a cherry comb passing through hair. Hidan stills his hand and listens for Kakuzu’s hearts, focuses on the pulse of blood as it circulates.

“Do you think Dear Leader’ll be okay with this?” Hidan asks.

Kakuzu opens one eye and looks up at him. “With what?”

He gestures at the scene: Kakuzu’s head on his lap, Hidan’s free hand resting on a shoulder. “This.”

There’s a short pause with only the sound of rain before Kakuzu laughs, short and low. It’s strangely mirthful, and it makes something twist in Hidan’s belly for just a moment before the sound dies away. “I really doubt it. Really.”

Hidan doesn’t answer. His gesturing hand falls back into Kakuzu’s hair.

Kakuzu, meanwhile, shuts his eyes again. He waits a long moment before moving a hand of his own, crossed over his belly, to Hidan’s, sliding two fingers to cross over his partner’s. “Don’t make that look. What Leader doesn’t know…”

“Hm,” Hidan replies. 

That night, they sleep for once with their chests pressed together, heartbeats melding into one strong rhythm, hands gripped at shoulders. Three days, two on the road, and they’ll be as close to home as they can get.

\--

“Fuck rain.”

“Hidan.”

“No, really. I’m gonna put my dick in rain.”

Kakuzu sighs and tips the umbrella to cover Hidan’s arms, which are punching wildly at individual raindrops. “Please stop.”

Hidan’s arms flop uselessly back to his sides, his feigned anger dissipating like steam from the warm ground; the closer through Rain country they travel toward the Land of Wind, the warmer it gets. “Come on, old man. You don’t think I’m like… the least bit funny?”

“The least bit, and only the least bit.” Kakuzu steps closer to straighten out the umbrella, and Hidan folds his arms across his chest.

“Well, at least that’s something.” Hidan nudges Kakuzu’s arm and watches the new peal of rain that cascades off the umbrella as a result. “But really, who would live here? With all this rain?”

“Leader seems to enjoy it.” It feels strange to be humoring each other; Hidan prepares a smart retort for an insult that doesn’t come, swallows it down when he notices that Kakuzu’s only talking calmly. “Though I think he’s just nostalgic.” 

“Still, you have to admit,” Kakuzu continues, glancing over his shoulder at the rainwater, dripping from thick, verdant leaves of plants that sprout wild from the roadside, “There’s something calming about this rain. It’s like the monsoon season in Takigakure, really.”

Hidan notes the crease under Kakuzu’s eyes; his mouth is hidden under his mask, same as usual, but even tucked away Hidan knows it’s smiling. At first, it was terrifying to him, seeing Kakuzu smile with almost no prompting, but he’s grown used to it. Comforted by it, even.

He smiles back. “Gonna tell me about your boyhood days, old man?”

Kakuzu’s eyes wander slowly back to Hidan, then to the road. “I do believe I will.”

\--

The trail is hard to climb, crossing over rain-slick rock and under scraggly, thorny trees, but the view is perfect. From the trail’s end at the top of the foothill they settle into the relative dryness of the space beneath an Ame guard tower. Hidan looks north towards the Land of Earth border, at the smooth-sided mountains rising higher and higher until their pale forms meld into the white-blue sky; before them, to the west, spreads the low and rocky fields of western Rain country until a poorly-maintained, nearly inaccessible fence breaks western Rain into eastern Stone. Far off in eastern Stone country, the curtain of rain ceases and gives way to mottled grey slate. 

Beyond the border fence, a lone human figure picks its way over the stones, head swivelling slowly and cleanly in every direction. The figure’s dark cloak, unadorned, nearly blends into the surrounding stone, only set off by the cloth’s gentle ruffle in the wind. After a long moment, the figure carefully descends the crest of a hill and vanishes from sight.

Hidan squints after it, then looks up at Kakuzu, who leans on the umbrella to watch the steady rain. “You think that was…?” he asks, tipping his head to indicate the slate field.

“Nobody else would be out there,” Kakuzu replies. “One of Sasori’s, I’m sure.”

Arms folded tight across his chest, Hidan scoffs. “Guy’s got eyes everywhere. Think he can see the whole of Stone country? He’s got enough puppets, and Stone’s not too big…” His voice quivers, almost imperceptibly, as he trails into silence.

Kakuzu sighs gently and taps the umbrella on the ground. “I think you give him too much credit.”

“Maybe.” Hidan looks out at the rain for a long moment, shoulders tense.

As the rain slackens, they turn away from the view and pause beneath the guard tower’s awning, watching little streams play down the flat rocks of the trail. Kakuzu opens the umbrella and steps out into the open, holding a bare hand outstretched to feel the cool water.

“Hey, old man.”

Kakuzu turns back and watches Hidan’s face, dark and creased, eyebrows turned up at the interiors. “Let’s get moving, kid.”

“Haven’t been one in years.” Hidan steps forward into the rain and tugs at Kakuzu’s mask.

Rainwater soaks into his cloak, straight through to the thin shirt Kakuzu insisted he wear that morning, except in one spot where Kakuzu’s hand rests on the gentle curve of his lower back. By the time the two set out again, the rain has returned in force.

\--

Only a handful of ema, little wooden cards decorated in delicate brushstrokes and begging for peace, harmony, serenity, mark the entrance to the cave. Its mouth descends straight down, a slick broad rock with no visible handholds, leading into a gravelly semicircle and craggy walls that press in on all other sides.

“Where the hell is the base supposed to be?” Hidan remarks. “No way I’m going down there. We’ll get stuck.”

Kakuzu crouches to look into the cave’s mouth. “The letter implies there’s a gap in the rock somewhere. Apparently there’s a tunnel system behind this entry.”

“Yeah, well,” Hidan says, sitting cross-legged at the top of the rock slope, “You can go find it if you’re so sure. I’m staying here.”

After a pause and a quick pinch to the bridge of his nose, Kakuzu stands, steps back a half-pace and shoves Hidan down the slope.

When he’s finally removed from the deceptively deep gravel below the entrance (spitting up rocks and curses the whole while), Hidan only pouts at Kakuzu. “I’m not even dignifying that with revenge. That was low and you know it.”

“It worked,” Kakuzu murmurs. “Here, the gap’s this way.”

The gap leads to a maddeningly long, narrow passage, only accessible by turning sideways and side-stepping down the winding, descending footholds. Rain-soaked rock gives way to dry rock, which in turns gives way to glittering veins of opal, as if the entire cavern is a geode split open. Hidan passes a hand along a fire-bright section, dancing with rainbow colors in the light from tiny roof shafts, and follows Kakuzu into the dark of the last section.

They step out into a low-ceilinged chamber, nearly circular, where the other Akatsuki members sit and kneel on cushions, some rubbing their sore feet and hands and others drinking from shallow tea bowls. Only Konan looks up at their entrance, nodding gently before turning back to the impromptu meeting.

Kakuzu clears his throat and earns Pain’s attention; he fixes his eyes on the intruders and stands (though not before draining his tea). “I see you two are later than expected,” he chides, ignoring Tobi’s giggle and Kisame’s belated greetings. “As far as I can tell, it shouldn’t take quite so long to get here from central Grass country.”

“It does when it’s raining. And in case you didn’t notice? Lotta rocks here.” Hidan scoffs and leans against a wall, examining an opal vein next to his elbow. “I fell a lot.”

“How does an S-rank missing nin fall on some slippery terrain?” quipped Deidara, sitting up from his slouch and upsetting Sasori’s tea.

“Hey, not everyone takes mountain climbing as an Academy topic. That’s exclusively a you thing.”

“Climbing was an elective in my school,” Kisame offers.

Kakuzu grumbles. “Can we just—”

“—everyone, stop.” Pain holds up a hand in Hidan’s direction, lets the palm curl into a fist. “I didn’t call for a discussion. Kakuzu, I expect a full report on your route and your pitfalls in the morning. Hidan, just… don’t start any more fights, please.”

“Yes,” Kakuzu mutters. He adjusts the travel bag on his shoulder and walks towards one of the passages leading farther into the cave.

“No promises.” As his partner selects a passage, Hidan slinks back to Kakuzu’s side and follows him out of the room.

They walk in silence for a long moment, glancing down side passages and into little rocky outcroppings: an underwater pool, the shore decorated with Kisame’s belongings and Itachi’s neatly-packed travel bag; a tall room with a shaft of natural light that descends onto Deidara’s latest sculptures; a tiny, intimate place, full of opal, where Konan’s bedroll takes up most of the floor. Hidan remains quiet for longer than Kakuzu expects, eyes forward, boring holes in everything he sees.

When they reach an empty space, a broad, short room with a vast, flat floor, unclaimed so far, Kakuzu turns back to block Hidan into the hallway. “Something’s bothering you,” he states. 

“Yeah, something is,” Hidan replies. “Very astute.”

Under the mask, Kakuzu scowls. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”

With a huge sigh, dramatic and ragged at the edges, Hidan slumps into Kakuzu’s chest before pushing past into the empty chamber. “Okay, okay, well… What the hell was that just now? And by the way, I’ve been thinking about it—why would Leader care if we’re havin’ sex? Literally everyone else does. Like… probably including Zetsu and Tobi, somehow.”

“The rules are different for everyone,” Kakuzu says. He glances back to be sure that nobody’s followed them down the passage before entering. “And keep your voice down.”

“Oh, the rules are different for wild card Hidan and dangerous Kakuzu?” Hidan throws his travel bag down on a raised stone, ripping through it for his bedroll. “Because everyone else is soooo trustworthy and stable.”

“I didn’t say it was fair.” Kakuzu folds his arms and watches Hidan make his bed, lopsided and wrinkled in his fit. “Just keep everything subtle, alright? Everyone else does. We’ll be fine.”

Hidan ignores him, unpacking every single item from his travel bag, setting little icons up in an impromptu Jashinist altar, separating his clean and dirty clothes, scattering sand from the trip on the empty parts of the room. He watches everything, moving pieces around, back and forth as if he can’t decide on their aesthetic effect two inches to the right or the left. Slowly his anger evaporates and his eyebrows relax.

He moves to Kakuzu, still standing quietly in the doorway, and presses a quick kiss to his shoulder. “Fine. But you owe me, okay?”

Kakuzu flicks a stray strand of grey hair from Hidan’s forehead, tucking it behind his ear. “Promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

\--

“Kakuzu?”

“Shit,” Hidan hisses. “Is that Pain? That’s—”

“Shut up,” Kakuzu replies. “Just be quiet and he won’t see.”

They sit entangled on a stair-stepped ledge, the terminating end of a long, flat cave floor, that leads down into a darkened gorge where sharp rocks, capped in rough opal, reach out of the darkness as a reminder, an omen. Nobody in their right mind would climb into the gorge, not unless every other opal vein in the cave has been exhausted.

Or unless they’re Hidan, who decided to sit on the natural stair just under the floor’s edge with Kakuzu’s leg hooked over his shoulder and pressing against his neck and his partner’s engorged cock at his lips.

“He won’t see? Old man, he’s—your dick is in my face, he’s gonna see!” Hidan straightens his back in an effort to look over Kakuzu’s hip, trying to catch sight of the narrow hall leading into this abandoned chamber.

“You’re blocked from view. Just sit still and don’t make noise.” As measured footsteps approach, echoing down the cave, Kakuzu flexes his leg to lock Hidan’s shoulder into place.

“This is the dumbest—”

“Kakuzu, I need that report soon.”

Just as Pain’s voice rings clear in the chamber, Hidan finds his open, protesting mouth suddenly stuffed full of Kakuzu’s cock, his nose nestled firmly in the wiry hair around the base. He gags and tries to pull away, but Kakuzu’s hand locks him in place by the hair, and his calf wraps fully around Hidan’s spine. Trapped, he desperately clenches his fists, suppressing every panicking instinct and trying to breathe through his nose.

“I meant to ask you,” Kakuzu says, turning his head away from the gorge to glance back at Pain. “Did you want me to include the rest of the trip, or should it only contain the days since the letter?”

“Either one.” Hidan swears he can hear the annoyed flap of Pain’s hand, and he tries to swallow, both from nerves and to combat the thick trail of saliva dripping from his bottom lip. “Whatever you can get to me the quickest.”

Kakuzu shrugs and lifts the pad of paper sitting beside him, removing the top few leaves where he’d earlier scrawled (and falsified) the details of his and Hidan’s recent trip. He holds them over his shoulder with a dry rustle, offering them to Pain.

Hidan pales at the sound. Pain will surely see him if he steps over to pick up the report, will notice how he’s gagging on Kakuzu’s cock, teary-eyed and drooling, almost pornographic in his dishevelment.

That can’t happen.

He desperately swats Kakuzu’s leg, struggling against the hand and leg that keep him still, gesturing as wildly as he can while remaining below the lip of the staircase.

And several odd things happen at once. 

 

First, Pain’s footfalls start back up as if he, the leader, would deign to cross the room for a mere report.

Second, Kakuzu listens to Hidan for maybe the first time. The papers rustle again, and he speaks up. “But,” he says, “they’re not quite finished.”

Third, Kakuzu’s cock throbs hard when Pain comes closer, aftershocks that Hidan can feel in his throat even when Pain’s steps still.

And finally, as Pain stops and as Kakuzu falls silent, the advance halted and their disaster aborted, Hidan feels the unmistakable sticky heat of Kakuzu coming straight down his throat.

He breathes deep through his nose, forcing his gag reflex into submission, and makes an effort to fondle at Kakuzu’s balls with one hand while the other grips at a thigh for dear life. Kakuzu’s hand twists, pulling his hair painfully, and the crossed-over leg tightens again.

“It will be done,” Kakuzu gutters out; only Hidan notices the way that his voice scrapes and the interruptions in his usually smooth diction. “It will be done by day’s end.”

“I trust it will be,” Pain replies. With that, footsteps echo again until they muffle in the hallway and vanish into mere distant clicks.

When Kakuzu releases his hair, Hidan coughs and pulls away, wiping at his eyes. A stray rope of semen decorates one corner of his mouth, and he wipes it away with a finger and a flickering tongue. 

“Well, that was—”

He’s cut off by Kakuzu’s mouth, pressing them into a heated, aggressive kiss. An opposing tongue crashes against his own, trading in notes of salt and sweat before finally breaking with a wet pop.

His partner’s face is impassive, content, much more so than usual. “You’re kind of a freak, you know that?” Hidan asks.

“Hm,” Kakuzu replies. He rests an elbow on his knee and closes his eyes, basking.

“For real. I didn’t know you were into that public shit.” When his goading goes unanswered, Hidan rests his head on Kakuzu’s thigh, folding his arms under his chin.

“You think Leader noticed?”

\--

He waits until everything is still before sneaking into Kakuzu’s bed. 

“Hidan…” Kakuzu, woken from a light slumber, doesn’t seem thrilled to be reunited.

“Shut up,” Hidan remarks. “We hardly get to see each other anymore.”

“We were together all day. And all day yesterday.” Nevertheless, Kakuzu winds an arm around Hidan’s waist.

“We were, but everyone else was there, too. And Pain was talking. And yesterday it was the training camp—which, why do we even have to do that? We’re all easily jonin level. And I couldn’t like… touch you, or kiss you, or anything. Too many people watching.” A damp warmth touches Kakuzu’s collar when Hidan sighs into his bare skin.

For a minute, the only sound is the gentle resounding whistle of fresh air winding in through the cave’s mouth, many twisting corners removed from them. “I wasn’t aware you missed that.”

“Of course I missed that. I miss you.” Hidan buries his face in Kakuzu’s throat, unable to take his words back. “You get used to… to that stuff, you know?”

“Hm.”

Kakuzu slides his hand through Hidan’s hair, clean and cool after his evening bath. He works away the tiny tangles that formed in his partner’s fitful nap, scratches at the parts of his scalp that never fail to produce tiny murmurs and clinging, warm hands. A nose, a set of lips, a cheek brush against his throat before settling back to restfulness, slotting into his negative spaces like they were designed to fit there.

“Feeling better?” he finally asks, working his ankle to fit between Hidan’s.

“A little. I still miss… other things, though.”

Kakuzu thinks about the next day: individual progress reports to Pain, then he’s been asked to help Sasori with… something. And nothing but free time in the afternoon.

“Tomorrow?”

“Holdin’ you to that.”

Kakuzu fades to sleep long after Hidan’s breathing evens out. He allows himself to focus on only two things: the vein of opal that curves elegantly around itself as if spiralling infinitely, and the warm, comforting press of Hidan’s chest against his side.

\--

Hidan walks right past the hidden chamber, and Kakuzu snags his shirt to pull him in.

Perfect timing.

Before Hidan can protest, his mouth is stuffed full of a rolled-up cloth, which is swiftly tied around the back of his head. He staggers, bumping against the opal-flecked wall behind him, and his hands automatically fly to the gag before he notices who pulled him in.

Kakuzu, arms folded, fixes him with a hungry look. “Just me, Hidan,” he murmurs. “I had to be sure you’d stay quiet.”

A tiny drop of oil falls from the gag; Hidan glances down at the floor to watch it splatter. He notices the unmistakably strong smell and accompanying taste of the cloth: ginkgo biloba.

Vaguely he remembers a day in a tiny village near the Hidden Grass, wandering comfortably through an open-air market. They had passed stalls of fresh-cracked almonds, net-bagged cranberries, stacked yuzu fruits and coconuts. One old woman, kneeling on an ornate cushion with her wares spread out on the ground, waved them over to a basket with small cloth bags full of a pungent nut. “Ginkgo,” she named it in broken Japanese, “good for lovers.” Hidan, ignoring Kakuzu’s protests, immediately bought a bag.

And this, apparently, was where it went. 

Hidan ignores his mild irritation—he wasn’t really saving the ginkgo nuts for anything, but it would be nice if Kakuzu didn’t steal them—and bites down on the cloth, letting the bitter oil flood his mouth and soak into his tongue. He’s not sure if it’s the situation or the oil or Kakuzu’s stare, but something makes his head spin, makes his heart throb until he can feel every individual beat.

“This room is pretty hard to find, thankfully,” Kakuzu murmurs, tracing a finger experimentally along Hidan’s chin. A drop of oil, straying from the cloth, smears along the sharp line of his jaw. “There’s a double-back entrance. Mostly hidden if you’re looking one direction down the hall, and we’re the only people who picked a room far enough back to ever look the other direction.”

Kakuzu removes his hand; his finger traces along the tip of his tongue, mottled green eyes locking on the violet ones opposite. The oil on his tongue disappears between his lips and the finger spirals once in the air, a full circle. “Shall we begin?”

All irritation gone, Hidan smiles as well as he can through the gag and obeys, shrugging his cloak off quickly and turning to brace his arms against the stone wall. His back curves out, then down, rolling slowly into a dramatic arch, which he watches over a shrugged shoulder.

A broad hand slides up Hidan’s spine, pushing his shirt up until it rests bunched across his shoulder blades. The exposed skin is pale, snow-white to Kakuzu’s eye (though he knows Hidan would protest, pointing at Itachi’s even paler skin), speckled with little tan dots and battle scars, fixed up with careful black stitches, which breathe and press back as Kakuzu’s hand crosses them. Kakuzu holds the shirt in place and works a hand into Hidan’s waistband, carelessly ripping his trousers down his legs in jerky motions.

From above Kakuzu’s leaned-over position, shoving the rumpled cloth down around Hidan’s ankles, he listens to the low rumbles that Hidan makes around the gag. He grabs a thigh, fingers sinking into plush, warm skin, and pushes Hidan’s legs apart.

Hot, steaming breath crawls over Hidan’s exposed balls a split second before Kakuzu’s lips press against them. Hidan groans sharply around the gag as the lips part, wandering over the heavy, rounded back. Muffled words, possibly pleading, leak from the edges of the cloth as the sensation travels up his balls and towards his hole.

“Already moaning for me,” Kakuzu murmurs, pulling his lips away for a second. He collects a droplet of saliva on his tongue and presses it directly to Hidan’s hole, watching it twitch under the stimulus. “You really are a whore.”

Hidan legs quiver when Kakuzu’s tongue returns, pressing hard on his entrance until it opens just enough for the wet muscle to writhe inside. A tightly-wound bundle of black tendrils, saliva slick and smooth, press in beneath his tongue, pulsing in and out in tantalizing, shallow thrusts.

All too soon, Kakuzu pulls the tendrils out, ignoring Hidan’s ragged sigh. “You’re so loose already,” he teases. He works off his cloak and shirt, sweeping both of their shed garments off to a side, smiling when Hidan’s shirt joins the pile. “I could rent you out at this point.”

From a deep pocket against his left hip, Kakuzu produces a small bottle of slick lubricant, stolen from an adult store many months ago, now half-empty thanks to Hidan’s near-insatiable appetite. He uncaps it and drizzles the clear contents in a tight spiral on Hidan’s hole. In response, Hidan sways his hips, rolling them enticingly as his hand slides along his waist, eventually pressing the lubricant into his own semi-stretched hole with a single finger.

The finger pulses in and out of Hidan’s entrance, and Kakuzu grips Hidan’s hip tightly. For a long moment he watches, rapt and enamored with the gentle, regular noises that Hidan produces, before he pulls back from the scene to remove his pants.

“Hidan,” he growls, kicking the pants away and untying his fundoshi at the hip. “Let me cut you open.”

Hidan hisses, arching, as response. His right cheek rumples under the gag, betraying a wry grin.

Kakuzu, finally nude, resists giving his engorged cock the stoke it begs for, instead reaching for Hidan and lifting him up with one arm locked under his armpit and the other beneath the opposite thigh. He presses a kiss to the oiled gag, sitting now over red pressure marks against Hidan’s cheeks, and carries him to a low, flat stone fitted earlier that afternoon with their combined bedding materials.

Hidan, set down carefully on his back in the center of the blankets, spreads his legs tantalizingly and strokes his cock, eyes wandering up and down Kakuzu’s form. His hand jerks and pulls away suddenly when a tendril, quickly erupting from Kakuzu’s thigh, delivers a slap to his balls, though he groans headily when it coils around them, tugging them away from his cock and constricting them in tight loops. The tendril pulses and flicks at reddening skin until a long, thick drip of saliva peels away from Hidan’s gag, decorating his sweat-shiny chest.

Kakuzu breaks away just long enough to retrieve a kunai from his pants pocket, glittering and sharp, freshly honed in the earliest hours of the morning. He smooths a hand through the saliva and sweat that decorate Hidan’s belly, gives a tiny smile when Hidan flexes to highlight the muscles he’s always been too eager to show off.

“Yes, very impressive,” he mutters. “You already know you’re easy on the eyes, so stop fishing for compliments.” Kakuzu runs the flat of the blade straight down Hidan’s belly, watching it bounce off the ridges of muscles. 

The first cut is deep and swift, vertical from the bottom of his ribcage to his navel and following the grains of muscles; Hidan’s belly blossoms open like ripe fruit, presenting sweet ichor that Kakuzu leans deep to kiss away until its flow is too quick to counter. His lips explore the raw, burning edges of the cuts until they steel themselves to press a kiss to a tendon, shivering, pulling the diaphragm to quiver with it.

He explores. A tongue slips across the brilliant red of an exposed organ, fingers press against skin and muscle and fat until Hidan whines sharply, until his legs buck and his hands reach desperately for Kakuzu’s hair. When Kakuzu looks up, Hidan’s wrists are pressed together, pleading: tie me. He agrees.

Hands lock together and stay locked together. Behind the head? Across the chest? They settle for behind the back; Kakuzu props Hidan up and lashes his wrists together, loose enough for him to struggle out of if he wants to, tight enough to make Hidan’s cock throb in anticipation. He gives a show of struggling, grinning through the gag, until Kakuzu slaps him across the face, shaking loose another string of saliva, which decorates his cheek and throat, glimmering.

“Whore.” It’s all he can say. Hidan’s practically glowing under this strange praise, a loving word in no other situation but this one, though he looks dizzy and half-lost. The knife returns and dances in a shaft of light that strays from one of the tiny vents in the cave’s roof. “Want this?” Kakuzu asks, spinning the blade. He laughs, almost affectionate, when Hidan moans and nods eagerly.

He slices two new openings, curving away from the bottom of the first and ending at the peak of both hipbones. The first appears quickly, naturally, organic in shape and over before Hidan even has the chance to cry out. The second builds slowly, Kakuzu guiding one hand beside the knife, studying the shape of the first cut that mirrors it, watching Hidan’s face as tears spring to his eyes, as his gasps turn into whines turn into moans turn into muffled pleading. He kisses the head of his cock, flicks the tip of his tongue over it, digs the tips of his fingers into one of the fresh cuts while he kisses away the precum that runs tantalizingly down the underside.

In a second, Hidan is in Kakuzu’s lap, grinding desperately while Kakuzu’s teeth dig into his shoulder. A hand finds its way into the newest cuts in his navel, traces the wounded edges and pushes at viscera; he sobs and arches into the motion. The other hand traces down his spine to grab at his ass, delivers a sharp strike that leaves a bright, burning handprint decorating the chalk-white skin. 

Two thick fingers spread him open. Hidan rocks back onto them until Kakuzu’s knuckles press against his hole, arches and rolls his back to fuck himself as best he can without the use of his hands. His head tips to the side until it rests against his own shoulder, throat exposed and pinkened in the blush that spreads from his ears to his chest. A regular, heady pant rattles in his chest as Kakuzu explores the sensitive crevasses of his intestines, prodding hard until the pressure creates new noises. 

And instantly, Hidan’s facing the other direction. He’s too dizzy, too blissed-out to recall how it happened, only that Kakuzu’s hands are on his hips and gripping tight in the way that means he’s going to be well and thoroughly fucked. He tips his head back to look at Kakuzu, who’s more interested in watching the head of his cock as it slides slowly inside him.

“I have something,” he growls, “that I need to try.” It’s almost too slow, the speed he sets; Hidan’s already stretched, so this careful press is nothing short of torture, but Kakuzu holds his bound arms so he can’t sink himself down the way he wants to. “You wanna be used today, Hidan?”

Used.

Who knows the day Kakuzu figured out the vile things that word does to Hidan? But secrets don’t last between lovers, especially when one has never had a talent for keeping them to begin with, so here they stand with their favorite special-occasion trigger word: used.

Hidan shuffles his feet until the soles hit the ground, braced and tense for whatever Kakuzu’s master plan might be. He leans back until his spine is flush against Kakuzu’s chest: I’m ready when you are.

“Very well.” Kakuzu gives his thighs a gentle slap, watches the skin ripple and leans back to place his palms on the rumpled bedsheets. “Take what you want, then.”

Finally. 

Immediately, Hidan lifts himself up and drops down hard, whimpering when the air is knocked out of his lungs. For himself he sets a punishing pace, riding Kakuzu until his quads feel like they’ll give out any second. He listens to the wet slap his thighs make when he makes contact, the too-close whisper in his ear that urges him faster, harder, arch and roll your hips.

Kakuzu’s left hand finds his hip and grips until the skin turns red. It slowly takes over the motion, hijacking momentum until Hidan lets his feet slip out from under him. Another hand returns to his stomach, pulls at the cuts and stretches the openings until the pain makes Hidan’s eyes water all over again.

There’s a hand inside his stomach.

He gags when knuckles press up against things that have never been pressed on, as the motion of being fucked argues with the motion of a wrist pushing past the ruined skin of his lower abdomen. The noises of organs being pressed and gripped disgusts him, but at the same time it makes his balls tighten far too quickly; he tries to bite his lips but can’t manage it thought the gag. Tears roll down his cheeks openly, mingling with saliva when they reach his chin.

Kakuzu’s hand winds past a layer of fatty tissue, pushes behind a knot of intestine and wraps gently around another intestine, testing. It spider crawls down until one sensation, pressing, searing, meets the other. He grips tight and, surprising himself and Hidan both, groans hard.

Hidan’s blood crawls down his wrist and drips thick onto his thighs as Kakuzu wrings his hand in desperate circles. He pulls back out, nearly slipping the head of his cock out of Hidan, and slides back in slowly just to feel the tightened ring he makes with the fingers that constrict Hidan’s insides. The sensation makes Hidan’s legs twitch, so he repeats it again. And again. 

He experiments with stroking himself using only the hand he’s worked into Hidan’s belly, but finds it won’t move far enough to complete the motion (though the sounds Hidan makes, whining and sobbing desperately, make him want to try again some day). Every new motion, every painful way of ruining Hidan, makes his partner squirm and tighten.

There’s one more thing he has yet to try. Kakuzu turns his wrist and extends a finger, reaching around his concealed cock until he presses gently against a soft packet of warm muscle, smooth and pulsing. Hidan nearly screams at the touch.

“Good?” he asks, knowing the answer already. He watches Hidan’s face while his index finger rubs against the spot: his tongue has managed to work its way under the gag, where it drips saliva that lands in thick, sparkling ropes on his twitching, bobbing cock. His eyes are half closed, fluttering, while his head lolls side to side under the motion of Kakuzu’s hips, though each stroke and prod makes his eyebrows knit tighter and tighter.

His orgasm is sudden; Kakuzu notices all at once that he should have saved the best for the end, but nothing compares to the way Hidan falls apart in his lap. He can barely move correctly for all his shaking, arching back and jerking his hips in desperation as his moans grow deeper and guttural. Thick ropes of cum paint his thighs and the sheets in front of them in an impressive show—it continues into weak, needy spurts that simply roll down his cock to settle on his twitching balls.

Kakuzu wants to throw him down and chase after that orgasm; every muscle screams at him to move, but all he can do is wrap his arms around Hidan’s chest, holding him tight until his moans trail off into only labored breathing. He presses tiny kisses in a row up Hidan’s neck, following the tendon up to his earlobe, waiting for his breath to come back, ignoring the way his cock throbs as Hidan’s body twitches in aftershock.

Long moments, almost impossibly long, pass until Kakuzu finally kisses Hidan’s cheek. “Can you go again?” he asks, hoping nothing in his voice betrays his desperation. “If I untie you, can you go again?”

Hidan nods; he’s barely hanging onto consciousness, leaning too heavy against Kakuzu as his binds are undone. The gag leaves his mouth and there’s a near-immediate kiss exchanged before Hidan is pushed down sideways onto the bed so Kakuzu can reach his hands.

He murmurs Kakuzu’s name, over and over in a wandering, low whine as Kakuzu throws his left leg over a shoulder. Hidan’s hand, shaking, wanders up and down Kakuzu’s chest as he works back into him, as they both adjust to the new sensations of the scene. His cock, now only half-hard, bounces against his thigh while Kakuzu works up a rhythm.

“Fuck,” Hidan mutters in a voice that’s more scrape than note. “Kakuzu, I—fuck.” His face contorts when Kakuzu strokes a blood-stained hand over his cock, calves tightening and feet curling into tight, painful C’s. ”T-too much,” he gasps out; Kakuzu waits a moment, but he never hears the key—”grudge,” a word neither would think to use in bed—and so continues, reveling in the way Hidan begs and cries.

In only a few minutes, though, Hidan’s cock is hard again, leaking onto Kakuzu’s hand. One hand, bracing him on the floor, toys with a puddle of blood large enough that Kakuzu’s surprised he can even stay hard; certainly it’ll be a hassle to repair him after this tryst. 

But it’s worth it. Seeing Hidan come apart under him, ruined and working up to his second orgasm in several minutes, choking on Kakuzu’s name? All worth it.

This time, Kakuzu focuses on aligning his orgasm with Hidan’s; it’s not hard considering the way Hidan tightens around him as his second orgasm washes over him. He indulges in the moment and presses his face into Hidan’s leg, biting down on a thick rope of muscle and rutting against Hidan, head spinning. Maybe he’ll be griped at sometime later for the mess he’s surely making, but he can’t resist the urge to bury himself in the maddening tightness

They collapse in a mess of blood, sweat and legs, seeking each other’s holds like lifelines. Tight chests gasp for air and loose lips gasp for partners. At some point, Hidan’s hand makes its way into Kakuzu’s hair, stroking long and smooth, comforting motions that bring Kakuzu’s head to rest against his shoulder.

“We should really clean up.”

\--

Hidan lies on his back, a curious finger tracing over the arrow-shaped stitching on his belly as he listens to Kakuzu’s voice.

“There was, however, living at this time a young princess, the fourth child of a late emperor,” the tale continues through Kakuzu’s voice. One hand, now scrubbed clean of blood, strokes Hidan’s shoulder while the other flicks at the tattered pages of a novel. “She had great promise of beauty and was guarded with jealous care by her mother, the Empress Dowager.”

“Kakuzu,” Hidan mutters. “This is the most boring story I’ve ever heard.”

“Hush.”

“Come on, you said you’d be nice to me, and this is what I get? Boring-ass political drama?” Hidan rolls onto his side for a split second before Kakuzu pushes him back down.

“Don’t lay on your side yet. And this is a famous work. The first true novel.”

“The first true bullshit.”

“Hidan.”

Hidan reaches his arms up and spreads them by Kakuzu’s face. “We’re all clean, and I’m tired. Come here.”

Despite the complaints and the fact that he has to mark a page dead-center of a chapter, Kakuzu’s only too happy to join Hidan in the freshly-cleaned sheets.

\--

“You owe me 50 ryo.”

Pain looks up from his makeshift desk, a slab of darkwood propped up against a boulder at the room’s edge, to watch Konan’s approach. “I do?” He sets down his pen and folds his hands atop his folded legs. “You’d better have proof.”

“Indeed.” She lifts a hand and waits, then flaps it gently when a sharp, distant sound floats faintly through the door.

“I don’t see how that proves anything. Could be anyone.”

“You know it’s them. And you owe me money.”

Pain scowls; how dare Kakuzu soften up after all these years? And how dare Hidan turn out to be so loud? 

He digs in his clock pockets for a coinpurse.

\--

When it rains in the early hours of the morning, Hidan finally notices the well-hidden ceiling vent in their shared chamber. Already awake, somehow only marginally annoyed by his wet shirt and blanket, he climbs carefully out to watch the warm sunrise that shimmers through the haze of rain to the west.

For once, he’s silent for a long time, reverent. Sunrises over Yuugakure, for all its natural wonders, were simply blue with streaks of occasional purple; on lucky days he noted bits of silver from the storm clouds off the Land of Lightning’s southern coast. But here, he watches the red fade into pink, the color of raw meat, dragonfruit skins, chapped palms. 

He barely notices when Kakuzu sits down beside him, carefully approaching the ledge where Hidan’s feet dangle as if he’s the type to fall. “I wondered where you went,” Kakuzu comments, offering up an orange stolen from a little farm many miles ago.

Hidan accepts the fruit and moves closer, pressing his leg into Kakuzu’s; the motion earns no recoil like it might have once. “Worried you, did I?” 

“A little.” The sunrise progresses into blue, and the shadows of their legs sprawl long down the cliff face below.

“If I didn’t know any better, old man, I’d think you’re going a little soft.” Hidan leans into his side and reaches for a hand, tangling their fingers into lacework. “Developing a weakness, almost.”

“Don’t tell anybody,” Kakuzu murmurs. “I have a reputation to keep.”

“Is that what it was?” 

Several silent minutes pass. There are no comments to be made about anything: not about the sex, not about the withering citrus, not about the dazzling crawl of the sunrise and not about their laced hands and the way that Kakuzu’s thumbnail traces lazy, comforting arcs just below Hidan’s wristbone. A kiss is exchanged with no fanfare, only a gentle, satisfied sigh.

Hidan holds up a raw opal, still set into the dark stone from the cave walls, to see it glitter in the growing light. Tiny spark rainbows pop up and fade just as fast under its milk-white surface; it looks like liquid covering a fire.

“Think we can make some cash off these things?”

Kakuzu produces a dark, well-worn suede bag from his cloak, sets it on Hidan’s leg and works the drawstring closure open. Inside is a tight mass of opals, cut roughly from the veins on the cave walls and carefully chipped away from their surrounding stone. “Absolutely,” he agrees.

As the light advances over the barren rock of the Land of Stone, Hidan’s laugh, rich and loud, follows the dawn. It drowns out the gentle chuckle that Kakuzu offers, the noise of precious stones that scrabble, forgotten, across a broad outcropping of slate, the noise of a pair of bodies that collide and roll to the ground and the tiny echo of hands reaching for a face. The sound, thankfully, does not progress underground, though Kakuzu wouldn’t dream of stifling it.


End file.
